Part 18

"Now," thought I, "let us see how she will endure a sight of me."

She raised her eyes to the company at last; instantly a concert of praise and compliments burst forth. She was in truth very fair to look upon, and the gentlemen vied with one another in their efforts to find words enthusiastic enough to depict their ecstasy and enchantment. How happy she was at that moment! there was a flush on her brow, but it was a flush of pleasure, of pride, not of modesty.

"But where's my friend?" cried Raymond, looking about for me. He spied me in the corner from which I was observing the scene, ran to me, seized my hand, and dragged me toward Caroline.

"Come on," he said; "come, I say, and see the Three Graces! She's Hebe, she's Venus, she's Psyche, she's----"

Raymond was interrupted by a cry from Caroline. She glanced at me as I began to pay my respects to her, congratulating Monsieur de Grandmaison. She turned pale, stammered, tried to recover herself; but the shock was too sharp; she tottered, and fell upon her latest adorer. He, being then occupied in responding to his friends' congratulations, received the young woman's weight as he was about to take a pinch of snuff, to help him to make some witty response. The poor man was not strong enough to resist that unexpected blow; his left leg was always out of line, and Caroline's weight causing the right one to bend, Monsieur de Grandmaison fell heavily, trying to grasp what was nearest him, which happened to be Monsieur Rocambolle's thigh. He clung to that, which he supposed to be an integral part of the person, but his hand grasped nothing but the cotton wool with which the old libertine stuffed his breeches in order to improve his shape. The broadcloth split and tore, and Monsieur Rocambolle's fictitious thigh remained in Monsieur de Grandmaison's hand.

While Monsieur Rocambolle angrily reclaimed his cotton posterior, while the toothless youth threw himself upon a couch, laughing like a maniac, while Zamorin looked to see if the supper were growing cold, and while milord gazed from one to another of the company with eyes that seemed to be starting from his head, Raymond, wishing to repair the damage unassisted, rushed to the table in search of something to give the fainting woman. As he put out his hand for a carafe, he overturned a decanter of madeira, also a candelabrum, the candles in which fell upon a fromage glacé and went out. The decanter fell on Monsieur de Grandmaison's face, who swore that his nose was broken; while Zamorin, seeing the havoc Raymond was making on the supper table, called loudly for help. The servants hastened to the spot, but their presence served only to increase the confusion. Caroline was still unconscious, or pretended to be in order to conceal her embarrassment; Monsieur de Grandmaison continued to curse, Monsieur Rocambolle to shout, Zamorin to lament, and the young man to laugh; the Englishman tried to put a bottle or two of champagne in a safe place; and Raymond, in attempting to assist the young woman, to raise Grandmaison, and to restore order, overturned furniture, smashed bottles and plates, sent a chicken in one man's face, a pie into another's lap, and ended by falling upon a small table laden with liqueurs and brandied fruits.

What further business had I at Monsieur de Grandmaison's? My revenge was complete; the confusion was at its height; the scene of pleasure was transformed into a scene of uproar and distress; singing had given place to outcries, bonsmots to lamentations, drunkenness to wrath, merriment to gloom; in a word, Caroline had seen and recognized me, and the effect had surpassed my anticipations. I was satisfied; and leaving them all to extricate themselves from their plight as best they could, I left Monsieur de Grandmaison's house, thoroughly cured of the sentiment the young flowermaker had inspired in me.

XXIII

THE TWO VISITS.--THE LESSON IN HANDWRITING

On the following morning, at nine o'clock, my doorbell rang. I was still in bed, reviewing the events of the evening, and laughing at that which had been powerless hitherto to extort a smile from me, because a single sentiment had filled my mind and prevented me from considering the scene from its comic side. But now that my head was cool, my heart tranquil, and my mind no longer tormented by the anticipation of what was to happen, I thought of the different personages I had left at Monsieur de Grandmaison's house; I fancied that I could see them gathered about the lost supper, lost by the exertions of Monsieur Raymond; and I laughed all by myself, as if I were still in their midst.

If at that moment some inquisitive mortal, escorted by the _Diable Boiteux_ or some other imp, had perched on the roof of my house and amused himself by watching me, he would have thought, no doubt, that I was temporarily insane. For my own part, I cannot see that it was any more extraordinary to laugh at those reminiscences than it would have been to weep at them; but we are never astonished to see a person shed tears; whereas, if you laugh all by yourself, you are looked upon as a madman or an idiot. Can it be that tears are more natural to man than laughter?

My concierge, who, as I believe I have already told you, did my housework every morning, opened my door and ushered in my neighbor Raymond, who, seeing that I was in a hilarious mood, thought that his presence was responsible for it, and stood for a moment uncertain whether to be angry or to join in my laughter. He prudently adopted the latter course, and approached my bed chuckling.

"Well, my dear fellow, it was a warm evening! Ha! ha! ha! You are still thinking about it, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I look to you for the details of the catastrophe."

"And I to you for an explanation."

"Do you want it in the Bois de Boulogne again?"

"No, no! Ah! you fox! the lovely Caroline had some reason for fainting when she saw you!"

"A perfectly natural reason: I am the young man whom Monsieur de Grandmaison has replaced."

"Is it possible? Gad! it was a unique situation! And to think that it was I who took you to the supper and introduced you to poor Grandmaison! Deuce take it! you never said a word, you did not give me your confidence, although I am devoted to you, heart and soul!"

"I wanted to arrange a surprise."

"You succeeded mighty well!"

"Tell me how the evening ended?"

"Very dismally. There wasn't any supper. The young woman insisted on retiring. Poor Grandmaison's face was cut by a bottle of wine that fell on him, heaven knows how, and we had to leave them at liberty to go to bed. But I fancy the night passed very differently from what they anticipated. We parted in an execrable humor. Rocambolle was angry about his cotton padding, Zamorin regretted the supper, and the other the youthful beauty whom he hoped to seduce. I am the only one of the party who takes everything philosophically, as you know. But I confess that I was impatient to see you, to learn the cause of the catastrophe which disturbed the festivities. I came near waking you up last night, in order to find out earlier."

"You did very well to let me sleep."

"Well, I must go, neighbor; but, I beg you, have a little more confidence in me another time! You know how close-mouthed I am; you can safely tell me anything! I always receive it under the seal of secrecy. I should have made an excellent inquisitor, or an _illuminé_! I love secrets. In the matter of secrets, I am absolutely impenetrable. For instance--I am a Freemason: have I ever divulged the secrets of the order?"

"You have told me that there weren't any."

"True, true; but I said that to deceive you the better. Adieu, neighbor!--By the way, do you know the news? They say that the Baron de Witcheritche wears horns. There's a young musician who offered to show the baroness how to play the serpent; the husband consented, because it would be one more string to their bow, and it might be useful on occasion. Moreover, the baron thought that he would compose some little duets for the violin and the serpent, that he and his wife could perform in company. So the musician came every morning to give her lessons; but one fine day, Witcheritche, who was supposed to be in the country, returned home unexpectedly; he found the teacher's method of instruction too progressive and the baroness too apt. It seems that Witcheritche wasn't as fond of music as usual that day; for he shrieked and swore; his wife wept, the musician skipped; in short, there was a scandalous scene. Little Friquet, whom I happened to meet the other day, told me about it; he had it from his aunt, who had it from Madame Bertin, who had it from Crachini, who had it from Gripaille, who had it from a young lady who lives in the house with Witcheritche. But I say that we shouldn't be too ready to believe rumors; we should go back to the fountain head. I am going to the baron's this morning; I shall see whether he is on cool terms with his wife, and I'll find a way to make him tell me everything, without seeming to do so, by just mentioning the serpent. Adieu! I have to finish a little vaudeville for which I have an order from Rue de Chartres."

"Have you had a play accepted at some theatre?"

"Why, I have had plays accepted everywhere."

"It's strange that they are never produced."

"Oh! I'll tell you why that is: when they are not produced at once, I withdraw them! I have a will of my own, you know. Withdrawn at once, if not produced as soon as I request it. It's like my pictures, my little water-colors, which I don't send to the Salon, for fear they'll be hung in a bad light. A man should have some pride; veritable talent is centred within itself, and there always comes a time when its envelope is pierced.--Adieu, neighbor! I'll give you a chance to dress."

"That man ought to be happy," I said to myself, thinking of Raymond; "he has no doubt of anything; he believes himself to be intellectual, talented, and handsome. If a woman doesn't listen to him, it's because she's afraid of loving him too well; if his poems are not printed, it's because the publishers are ignorant; if his plays are not accepted, a cabal of authors is responsible: his self-esteem does not allow him to look at things from any but a flattering point of view. I am convinced that he believes himself to be courageous, although he fought a duel with bulletless pistols; and that he would consider himself a soldier if he were in the band of the national lottery; just as he thinks he has a fine leg because he has fat calves, and beautiful hair because he's as woolly-headed as a negro. However, he is happy, and that's the main point. Happy people are not so rare as they are said to be; for there are many in the world who resemble neighbor Raymond."

If it had not been so late, I would have gone to see Nicette; to read in her eyes that sentiment so sweet, so affectionate, and, perhaps, so true, that I had never found in Mademoiselle Caroline's lovely eyes; I say _perhaps_, for I dared not trust anything or anybody.

On going out I unconsciously took the direction of Rue Caumartin, nor did I stop until I reached the corner of that street and the boulevard. It was all a matter of habit; habit is responsible for many things that we do. In fact, it is a sort of second nature, it binds us in default of love. How many people there are who have ceased to love each other, and who remain together from habit! I do not refer to those who are married; they cannot do otherwise.

In order to put an end the sooner to that habit, which could not be very deeply rooted, as my intimacy with Caroline had lasted only two months, I determined to call upon Madame de Marsan, with whom I recalled that I had been more or less in love. At all events, I owed her a visit for the invitation which she had sent me, and of which I had been unable to avail myself, thanks to my travelling companion.

She lived on Faubourg Saint-Honoré, I remembered, near the first street on the right; in any event, I could inquire; rich people are well known and are always easy to find; it is only the poor who are ashamed of their poverty whom no one knows; but then, it is so seldom that anyone seeks them. I bent my steps toward Faubourg Saint-Honoré and inquired for Monsieur de Marsan. Three or four persons eagerly showed me his house, pointed it out with their fingers. Evidently Monsieur de Marsan was a very wealthy man! everybody knew him or wished to appear to know him. Really, wealth is a fine thing!

His house was, in fact, of imposing aspect; less elegant, less ostentatious perhaps, than Monsieur de Grandmaison's; but I suspected that it was more productive, and to a man of calculating mind that advantage is certain to outweigh others. It was only twelve o'clock; might I see madame? It was very early for the first call on a pretty woman, especially one who has passed her thirtieth year. The further a lady recedes from her springtime, the more time she spends at her toilet, so that she cannot be visible very early. At fifteen, a girl appears just as she happens to be; at twenty, she receives callers in a simple négligé; at twenty-five, she poses before her mirror for some time before she appears; at thirty, she takes much pains with her toilet; at thirty-six--but that would carry us too far; let us pause at thirty-six.

The concierge told me to go up to the first floor, the left-hand door; that led to madame's apartment. Monsieur's offices were on the ground floor. I walked through several rooms, and found at last a young lady's-maid--who was not pretty, and with whom no man was likely to tarry when he was going to see her mistress. I asked for madame, gave my name, and the maid went to announce me. I waited only five minutes; that is not too long to wait to see a pretty woman, when so many wealthy fools, vulgar parvenus, and public officials have the assurance to keep visitors waiting an hour before they condescend to show their inane faces.

"You may enter, monsieur," said the lady's-maid, and she ushered me into her mistress's presence. This prompt reception seemed to me of favorable augury.

I found Madame de Marsan sitting on a causeuse in a pretty little room decorated in the daintiest style, where the light, being filtered through double curtains and blinds, was very soft. I spied a piano, a harp, and music. I have a great liking for women who are fond of music, and a greater for those who play or sing; it is a sure resource in idleness; and a woman who does nothing thinks too much.

Madame de Marsan received me with an amiable smile, in which I fancied that I could detect a shade of vexation. I attributed it to the absence of zeal on my part in calling upon her; and that course of action, which, however, was not premeditated, served me better than the most assiduous love-making would have done. She was piqued; she believed that she had surely subjugated me, and she had not seen me since. In truth, that must have seemed very strange to her after the way I had ogled her at the theatre and my conduct at Vauvert's; it surprised myself, for I now thought her a hundred times prettier than Caroline.

She did not reproach me, however; but I made haste to apologize for having failed to avail myself of her invitation, and told her what had happened to Raymond and myself. The story of our adventures at Montmorency made Madame de Marsan laugh heartily; and merriment, by banishing the etiquette and formality of a first interview, permitted our minds to understand each other and our hearts to divine each other.

In order to prolong my visit, I urged Madame de Marsan to sing to me. She consented, and acquitted herself with a grace and good taste that fascinated me. She accompanied herself perfectly on the piano; in short, she was a thorough musician. How she must have suffered at Vauvert's party!--But I realized that I must not unduly prolong the first interview. It is judicious to make people desire one's presence, and not to be too lavish of one's self at first, especially with women who are accustomed to homage and love-making; in fact, to being assiduously courted. Hitherto I had never had the art of concealing what I felt; perhaps I was boasting too soon, but I had determined to be on my guard in the future! My last adventure had revived all my grievances against a sex which I could not shun, but to which I would gladly have repaid a part of the torments it had caused me.

I took leave, therefore, of Madame de Marsan.

"Will you be as long again without letting me hear from you?" she asked, as I rose to go.

"No, madame; I shall take frequent advantage of the permission you accord me to come to see you and listen to your singing. I trust that you will not consider that I abuse it."

"Be assured, monsieur, that I shall never complain of that. You love music, and we will sing together sometimes. I go out very little; and it will be very good of you to make one of our little circle."

She was a charming woman. I am inclined to think that I say that every time my heart takes fire. But, no matter; I may as well repeat it, as the same sentiments were constantly renewed in my heart. What she had said to me could not have been more amiable. She could not see me too often--that was almost a declaration! I left her, with the most flattering hopes stirring in my breast, believing that I was adored already. To be sure, according to what Raymond had told me, it would not be her first weakness; he had spoken, I think, of three or four _inclinations_. But I refused to judge Madame de Marsan according to the remarks of my neighbor, who was a liar and a slanderer.

"I will go to her house this evening," I thought. But, no; that would be altogether too soon! I had vowed never again to go so fast in an intrigue, but to try to learn first of all the character of the woman who attracted me, to avoid letting my sentiments appear until I was sure of hers; and lo! I had taken fire already! I wanted to obtain everything at once! Ah! I was incorrigible; I should never know how to spin out a genuine romance.

I determined not to go to Madame de Marsan's again for two days. Meanwhile, I must have distraction; not that I was still thinking of Mademoiselle Caroline! so far as she was concerned, I was thoroughly cured; indeed, I had concluded that the wound was not very deep. However, if I were left to my own devices, my natural impatience would drive me to Madame de Marsan. But had I not always Nicette to oppose to ennui, sorrow, and, above all, new love affairs?--I would see her; but not yet, for it was only two o'clock. I should be seen talking with her, and that was what I did not want. I must wait until night; so I went home, thinking that I would try to straighten out my affairs a little before dinner.

I found there a letter from my sister. Poor Amélie! She complained that I had entirely forgotten her. In truth, it was now September, and I had not yet been to see her. If I could have gone for two or three days; but that was impossible! when I was once there, she would never let me go.--She wrote of a superb match she had found for me: sixteen years old, beauty, virtue, and fortune. I agreed that the combination was dazzling, but it did not tempt me as yet; perhaps in two or three years--we would see. I made up my mind, however, to go to Amélie and her husband for a fortnight during the autumn; indeed, it was essential that I should do something to set my affairs in order, for my liaison with the flowermaker had disarranged them sadly. The deuce! at the rate things had been going, my income would soon have disappeared. I was much indebted to her for leaving me soon enough to prevent my ruining myself. With six months of strict economy, I should be able to pay my debts; for six months, therefore, I would abstain from those passions that cost so dear; Mademoiselle Caroline had proved that the women for whom we do the most are not the ones who love us best.

At nightfall, I went to see Nicette. Her shop was closed; but I saw a light through the glass over the door. I knocked softly, fearing to attract the attention of the neighbors. I had every appearance of a lover who is afraid of being seen.

"Who is there?" she asked.

"It's I, Nicette; it's----"

But I did not need to give my name; the door was already open and she was before me. I entered the shop, closing the door behind me; then paused to examine the girl, who was all alone amid the flowers and shrubs which filled the whole shop, save a small space where there were a table and a chair. The table was covered with paper, pens, and books; and a single candle lighted that little room, where the different flowers diffused a most agreeable odor.

She bade me sit beside her.

"How kind you are to come to see me, Monsieur Dorsan, and to think of me sometimes!"

"Don't you think of me, Nicette?"

"Oh! all the time! but that's no reason why--why--I mean, it's very different!"

"What were you doing when I came?"

"I was writing, monsieur--learning my lesson."

She blushed as she said it. I glanced at the table and saw several sheets of paper covered with large letters--a name written again and again--and that name, mine! Poor Nicette!

I looked at her; she blushed even more, and stammered, lowering her eyes:

"I beg your pardon, monsieur, for taking your name for a copy; but I thought that my benefactor's name ought to be the first thing that I wrote."

I took her hands and pressed them.

"Really, Nicette, I do not deserve so much friendship--if you knew me better!"

"Oh! I know you well enough by all that you have done for me."

"Are you happy now?"

"Yes, monsieur; I can't be more so."

The tone in which she said that, and the melancholy expression of her face, gave me much food for thought.

"You seem to me much changed, Nicette."

"How, monsieur?"

"You are pale, and a little thinner than you were."

"But I am not sick."

"Perhaps this smell of flowers----"

"Oh! I've been used to that a long time."

"I miss in your manner that light-heartedness and vivacity that I noticed at the time of our first meeting."

"Oh! a person can't be always the same."

"Still, if you have nothing to distress you----"

"No, monsieur, no, I haven't anything."

"Your eyes tell me the contrary. Dear Nicette, you have been crying."

"No, monsieur; and even if I had--why, sometimes one cries without knowing why, and without being unhappy."

We said nothing more. I did not choose to question her further, for I thought that I could guess what caused her distress. She did not look at me again; doubtless she was afraid that I would read her eyes. She was pensive and silent. Nor could I find anything to say. Her sadness had infected my heart. But the silence had a charm which we both enjoyed. However, I thought that I ought to try to divert her thoughts, and at the same time turn my own mind from reflections that were too hazardous. I went to the table and looked at the paper and the writing.

"You write well already, Nicette."

"Not any too well yet, monsieur; but I hope, with time----"

"Do you still take lessons?"

"No, I haven't any teacher now; he said things to me that I didn't like; he didn't want to give me the word I wanted for a copy; he always made me write: _Commencement, commonly, exactly_; and I didn't see why I couldn't learn just as well by writing _Dorsan_ as _commonly_, although it isn't so long. That made him angry, so I sent him away; I can get along without him. I know how to write the small letters too."

"Let me see."

"Oh! my hand would tremble before you, monsieur."

"Why so? I will give you a lesson."

"Will you, really?"

"Why, yes; to be sure."